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      He was purposely being provoking and Kalera was determined not to be provoked. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Good-looking?’

      ‘Very.’

      ‘Intelligent?’

      ‘Extremely.’

      ‘Good in bed?’

      She didn’t miss a beat. ‘Scintillating.’

      He opened his mouth and her patience deserted her as she added tartly, ‘He’s also kind, generous, fond of young children and animals and good to his mother.’

      He pursed his lips and looked patronisingly sceptical. ‘Not cut the apron-springs yet? Is he much younger than you?’

      ‘Since I’m only twenty-seven, how much younger could he be?’ she snapped, bristling at the idea that she was the victim of a feminine mid-life crisis. ‘He’s not some smooth-talking gigolo or toy-boy if that’s what you’re implying. He happens to be in the prime of his life!’

      ‘What an interesting euphemism,’ he needled slyly, enjoying her small flare of temper. ‘I guess that means he’s more the sugar-daddy type.’

      She sucked in her breath. ‘As a matter of fact, he’s exactly your age.’

      His eyelids flickered. ‘He sounds exactly like me in every respect so far. Is this your coyly euphemistic way of telling me you’re panting with unrequited love for me?’

      Her grey eyes flashed silver and she forgot she was supposed to be placating him. ‘You’re the last man on earth I’d want to fall in love with,’ she cried, her hands bunching into fists on top of her desk as she struggled with an uncharacteristic desire to break things. ‘My God, you are so arrogant!’

      He shrugged, acknowledging the accusation with an insufferable grin of bone-deep confidence. The annoying thing was that his arrogance was largely justified; he seemed destined to excel at whatever he did. He joked about being a computer nerd but he was a far cry from the introverted, pasty-faced, pigeon-chested, techno-freak of popular misconception. At thirty-four Duncan kept himself at a peak of physical fitness in the company gym, and played cut-throat games of squash at a city club, smashing stronger opposition with his erratic brilliance and aggressive will to win.

      ‘Comes with the territory,’ he murmured. ‘You know—mid-thirties, good-looking, clever, stinking rich, kind to children and animals…’ His voice dropped an octave to a sexy purr that ruffled the nerves all the way up and down her spine. ‘Not to mention sizzling in bed. Tell me, Kalera, what has your mystery man got that I haven’t?’

      She had said scintillating, not sizzling, but he had substituted the word deliberately. Sizzling had an altogether different connotation. Oh, yes, she could well believe that Duncan Royal could burn up the sheets when he was in the mood.

      ‘Humility!’ Kalera’s face glowed with a very un-Madonna-like spite as he winced.

      ‘Ouch!’ He tried to look humble and failed miserably. ‘Whoever he is he sounds far too good to be true.’

      ‘Well, he isn’t.’

      The ring of sincerity in her voice made the teasing malice die out of his expression and he regarded her over the top of her computer, his dark brows lowered, overshadowing his brooding eyes, his square jaw tense.

      ‘He does exist, then? He’s not just a figment of your wishful imagination?’

      ‘Of course he exists!’ she said firmly. ‘I wouldn’t be resigning from my job if he didn’t!’

      His chin clipped up as if she had hit him. ‘Wait a minute; is that the only reason you’re resigning—because you’re getting married?’

      ‘Staying on isn’t really an option…’ she began carefully.

      He slid off the desk. ‘What?’ He was genuinely outraged. ‘You’re giving up a job you love because this paragon of yours doesn’t want his wife to work? What is this—the Dark Ages? Why didn’t you tell the Neanderthal where to get off?’

      ‘Because it’s not like that—’

      ‘What is it like, then? Are you planning to move away, is that it? Doesn’t he live in Auckland?’

      ‘Yes, he does, but—’

      His brain was already fast-forwarding to other possibilities. He was piecing together her unease, her embarrassment and unaccustomed reluctance to get to the point. He blanched. ‘Are you pregnant?’

      His eyes bored into her flat stomach with an intensity that suggested he had X-ray vision. Kalera felt a tightening in her womb as she was swamped by a sense of intimate invasion. Instinctively she flattened a protective hand over her abdomen and something dark and dangerous smouldered to life in the piercing navy eyes.

      ‘Did you and your lover get careless? Is that the reason for this indecent rush to the altar? You know, illegitimacy doesn’t carry the stigma it used to—’

      That was going too far, even for Duncan. Kalera leapt to her feet, her slight body vibrating like a tuning fork as she matched his outrage. ‘For goodness’ sake, what rush? We haven’t even discussed a wedding date yet!’ she yelled. ‘We’ve only just got engaged. Of course I’m not pregnant. Do you know how insulting you are? Believe it or not Stephen wants to marry me; he’s not doing it out of duty or necessity or because he’s been trapped into retrieving my soiled honour. If you’d stop trying to cram words into my mouth you might have time to listen to what I have to say!’

      He fell back a pace, colour streaking back into his startled expression. Just as Duncan was famous for his temper, Kalera was renowned for her serene composure. She rarely raised her voice but when she did she used her diaphragm properly, as she had been taught during singing lessons as a child, and her normally warm, husky tones could project a shout of booming authority.

      Still, it wasn’t in Duncan’s nature to be confounded for long. ‘So…at last the mystery man has a name,’ he shot back. ‘What’s the rest of it? Is he anyone I’d know?’

      Kalera put her hands behind her back, squaring her shoulders proudly. ‘Actually, yes. And knowing who it is you’ll understand why I have to resign. The man I’m marrying is Stephen Prior,’ she announced.

      And ducked as Duncan Royal went ballistic.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘So…HOW did he take it?’

      ‘Not very well,’ said Kalera wryly, watching as her fiancé neatly cracked another crayfish leg between his strong fingers and extracted the meat with minimal fuss. She envied the combination of easy self-confidence and natural fastidiousness that allowed him to make it look so simple.

      If Kalera had ordered the crayfish in butter sauce she would have been in grease up to her elbows by now, with all sorts of debris clinging to her face. She loved seafood but had never quite got the hang of tangling politely with crustaceans at the dinner table and in the interests of romance, not to mention her white silk dress and unbound hair, had decided to forgo the restaurant’s specialty in favour of discreetly de-boned duckling.

      Stephen dabbled his fingers in the lemon-scented bowl of water beside his plate and dried them on his starched white napkin. His gold signet-ring gleamed dully in the candlelight, the only embellishment to his elegant, understated style. His dark, custom-tailored jacket and white shirt were as plain as they were expensive and provided the perfect setting for his lean frame and boyish good looks.

      ‘I take it that’s one of your masterly understatements,’ he said, picking up his champagne glass and toasting her silently before sipping the contents. Not for the first time Kalera basked in his wonderful manners. Whenever she was with Stephen she was made to feel like a lady, as well as a woman. Harry had been a lovely man and a good husband, but he had been a bit short on social graces. Romantic gestures were simply not his style.

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